


On The Care and Caution of Traditionally Bathing a Seven-Foot Electrical Communist

by Xecotcovach



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, Trust, showering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 05:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16298963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xecotcovach/pseuds/Xecotcovach
Summary: Ivan Raidenovich Raikov and his superior are lovers. Lovers do things. Rugged military life does not yield well to cleanliness but hygiene still matters, whether one party reeks of a burning circuit board or the bloody reminants of a fine afternoon’s “interrogation.”





	On The Care and Caution of Traditionally Bathing a Seven-Foot Electrical Communist

**Author's Note:**

> Published in a fanzine ages ago, but dredged up for wider public consumption in an age of a fandom reduced to pachinko machines and zombies. Six years of procrastination, my friends.
> 
> Fuck Konami.

He stood at the doorway of the showers, his gaze intense and expression unyielding as usual, but Major Raikov was not swayed. He had known the imposing man at the doorway fairly well by now, or at least he had thought he did, and he knew that the giant had been wound up, trying his damnedest to hide his apprehension, his fear even, with the best scowl he could.

To anyone else, it would have worked very well.  They would have backed away, would have resumed their prior duties in submissive compliance, that was that, but to Raikov, he was not convinced.

“Come in, and  strip,” the Major lightly clipped in his nearly feminine, nearly melodic voice.  Arms crossed, he watched the old titan stir, narrowing his eyes at the sheer audacity of a subordinate commanding the likes of  him.

Anyone else would have been dead by now.

Not even the sight of the Major’s nude, pristine body had enticed him, not with what loomed behind him, cold and sterile and perhaps a little more steely than him if by merit of material alone, but very slowly, agonizingly so, he took a step over the threshold.  He might have been expecting a bullet to the head.

“Yevgeny.  It’s not going to hurt you.”

A lie: They were both living dangerously.  In anywhere else but the Colonel’s insulated quarters, he had always firmly cautioned, his voice uncharacteristically grave, about the fatal possibility of even a sneeze.  Here, here was what Raikov’s lover had gauged as the ultimate test of his progress in self control of his peculiar affliction. 

Raikov knew Volgin would have never done this alone.

Volgin did a lot of things he would not have otherwise done for Raikov.  This, so far, among the leniency and tolerance, the small, expensive gifts, the tiny murmurs meant for no other ears but the Major’s own in the quietest hours of the morning, this had been the most extreme of his requests so far.

Volgin would pay for the mistake of succumbing to passion, and keep paying for it for a very long time.  He was not sure what to feel about it.  For all he had endured and done,  his life spent being crafted into a tool,  he could not purge himself of his humanity.

For now, Volgin had two of those red boots on the tile, but he stood there, fully clad in his uniform and containment suit.  His expression was stiff. 

“ _Strip_ ,”  Raikov snapped again.

Volgin sighed.  The massive shoulders sunk.

“This is very stupid,” he grunted.  “And unnecessary.  My method serves me very well.  It has served me very well over the years.  Vanya, this is a very bad idea.”

“You hadn’t had a proper bath in at least  two decades.”  Raikov’s arms remained crossed.  His nose wrinkled in disgust.

  
“You are man of means,” Volgin returned.  Still, he was finally undressing and being slow about it, just in case Raikov reconsidered.  “Running water is a luxury.  I  am still surprised it was managed here.”  A snort, those  dangerous eyes, partially a wolfish yellow, narrowing.  “You are also a man without several million volts coursing through  your body.”

Raikov had nothing to say to that, while Volgin worked the buttons of his coat.  The flap came apart, and the giant greatcoat crumpled into a massive heap behind him.  It left the suit and the plating he had fitted around his legs.

Their eyes had met for a time again, before Volgin yielded, he really did not want to, and bent over to unclip the plating.  To the tile it went.   Just like his boots, the suit was easily unzipped and peeled from his body.

Raikov  loved that body.

Volgin stepped forward, more getting away from the last articles of “clothing” he just shed than intention to get near that damned showerhead.  He was quite spectacular for his age, hard musculature beneath the scarred skin with a nearly deceptive definition.  The marring of his face had extended beyond to his entire body, dark trenches cutting across flesh in long spindly rivers and patches.  Still, bone had begun to poke along his frame, skin still losing tautness, his hair color fading into white. Raikov could see his ribs slowly heave. 

He found the imperfections, the  disfigurement, that gravity  managed to touch even the immovable likes of him, he found all of it quite enthralling.  Fascinating.  Endearing.  Volgin was brutal and predatory, a delightfully feral thing freed from the confines of a rank and file uniform. 

And  Yevgeny Borisovitch Volgin was still getting a shower.

Raikov  slid close, eyes never leaving the other man.  The thin fingers took the thicker set and incrementally Raikov pulled at the behemoth.  Volgin had been looking down, his stiff expression not terribly unlike a large cat or falcon.  Beyond that,  where Raikov couldn’t see, the Colonel was imagining the worst case scenario, dazed and at his feet again, a motionless Ivan… 

He did not yield.  Raikov gave a harsh yank.

“Vanya,  _please._ _”_  It was not very often that the hulking thing used that word.  It was also not terribly often that he would protest either.  To Raikov, it was absolutely endearing.

“My grandparents, on their farm, a long time ago, had a mule.”  The Major’s smile was impish.  “I think you are more stubborn than it ever was.  Get over here, get it over with, and we can both go back to work.  You enjoy making me happy, don’t you?”

“There is accept-  _ hn!_“ That had been a hard pull, if by the merit of surprise.  Raikov was very good at surprising even him.  “-acceptable risk, and then there is  stupid.”

“A surprise for you later, then.”  A finger  lightly tapped Volgin’s nose.  The giant was silent for a time, not many things daring to playfully touch his face of their own volition to begin with, before he spoke again:

“The surprise is if we come out of this alive.”

That evoked a long eyeroll from the younger man.  He finally turned around, threw one of the heavy arms over his shoulder and went straight to work hauling.  This time Volgin moved, sulking over to the showerhead.  It only came up to his chin.  Come to think of it, one of the words Raikov would have used to describe Groznyj Grad was “big.”  It had made sense: The giant in his grip had designed the place.  It was sized quite comfortably for him without the need for ducking or strategically maneuvering his bulk, yet so far only the showers seemed to be “normally” sized and positioned for the average man. 

“I’m turning it on, okay?” 

Volgin said nothing.  Raikov could see him visibly tense in a fashion he had never seen before from the likes of him.  He had known it well; when someone tensed like that, they were anticipating a beating, pain of some kind.  It was the behavior of one of their subordinates.

“That is unbefitting of you,” Raikov finally said.  The other man had curled  the side of his lip on the good part of his face, but remained.

Volgin was muttering, having taken interest in something to the side: “ _Kuwabara_ , _kuwabara_.” 

“What does that mean anyway?” Raikov had taken a washcloth from his own stash of things, working up lather with a bar of soap.  He started at the chest, water running down the scar trails of his body like little rivers. 

“Hn.   I thought I told you.” 

“I don’t remem ber.”

“Hn.  Then, it’s Japanese.  To keep away the lightning.  Could also ward against other bad things, according to legen- _ Ivan_!”  The little bastard had pinched one of his nipples.  “Don’t surprise me here!”

“Couldn’t resist.”

Volgin rolled a low, dangerous noise as Raikov scrubbed lower.  And lower. 

“I don’t want to do anything else here.”

Raikov stopped, looking up at him with a pout.  “I thought you were a man of danger.  Thrill!  What was that?”

“I have enough problems.”  Not many men had to clench their chests, clench  everything, with the approach of climax to keep their partner from frying.  Not many men had to remember a textbook’s worth of electrical physics and circuitry, the stupid nuances of natural electricity and its behavior to better understand himself.  Not many men had to think about it as they fucked someone they wanted to keep around.  Usually Raikov got more out of a “business meeting” than he did.

And Raikov was washing that portion of him with a little more detail than what Volgin had expected.  Raikov was very good at pleasing him down there, very good.  One of his better lays these days. For the sake of both of them, however, his hand caught Raikov’s wrist.

“ _Later_. ”

Raikov made a face and, like a petulant child, squeezed his balls with the washcloth in retaliation before working on the interior of his thighs.

_Bastard_.

Silence followed for a time.  Volgin felt the latent current tumbling within him, snowballing stronger and stronger.  Raikov was going to have to hurry up.  Breathing was a reflex and apparently in giant electrical men, just as certain as breathing would start up again even when that said breath was held, getting the electricity out was a reflex as well.

Raikov pulled at a leg, which Volgin lifted, and felt the cloth work on  its foot.

Volgin puffed his breath.  Far below was that pretty white head.  “Ivan.  Don’t take your time on this.”

The foot was set down, and Raikov picked up the other leg.  “Turn around after this.”

“Did you hear me?” 

“Yes.  Turn around.”

Volgin complied.  Raikov might have spent a little more time replenishing the soap in his washcloth; Volgin could feel those eyes on his ass. 

And the cloth there, soon enough. 

“You’re enjoying this.” 

“I am, yes.”  Raikov finished his work, helping himself to a smack on one of the cheeks.  Volgin tried to look back and cock one of his heavy brows. Not that having such generous access to his assets was this unexpected.

“Even if-“

“Realizing that this could potentially kill me in a horrific fashion, yes.”  Raikov ran the cloth around the broad back.  “Even that.”

“You are either brave, or stupid.”

“And you are terribly harsh on yourself,” Raikov fluttered, somewhere between washing and admiring one of the trunks of his arms.  “To think the Terror of Groznyj Grad picks himself apart in the manner of a young woman fussing with her hair!”

Volgin tried to flash Raikov another look. He was quite unaffected.

“You do allow me privy to a lot of things,” Raikov shrugged.

“I do, yes.”

“You are lonely.”

Volgin puffed his breath again, as Raikov casually finished up his other arm.  His response came after a moment’s silence, the shower still pounding between them:

“Yes.”

“Well.”  Raikov had shrugged, placing a hand on his shoulder.  “You’re not now.

“Now, bend over.  Head under there.”

This was going to be Volgin’s least favorite part.  It had taken him years before he could stand in the rain without it biting into him, years to train himself to not recoil like a dog anticipating a beating, right there in front of his men (bad for morale, made him look weak).  He could stand in shallow water without a problem now, but the thought of his head being submerged made his stomach roil.  He stooped, eyes closed.

If at the least, Raikov’s fingers felt good, scratching deftly through his short hair to his scalp, at least.  He would have liked to have melt into it, allow himself the rare pleasure of falling into a sleepy, lazy stupor with the stresses and headaches of bringing a world domination plan together temporarily forgotten.  Not now.

Shampooing didn’t take long.  He was glad for that.  That was the most Raikov was going to get out of him.

“All done,” Raikov finally said. 

Volgin had fled to the other side of the room before Raikov could finish those words and twist the lever off.  He was surprisingly fast for a man of his size. Another roll of his eyes. 

“You’re endearing, Yevgeny.”

“We survived, Ivan.”

Ivan reached over for a dry towel and held it up to him.  “You’re going to forgo toweling off?”

Volgin stared at the very fluffy thing in Raikov’s hand, wondering where it had come from.  He never had ordered any towels like that. 

“Over here.”

“Fine, then.”  Raikov had sauntered over, far from the shower heads obviously, and-

-Volgin ripped the towel from his grip to dry himself off.  Raikov pouted his lip.

“I was going to dry you myself.”

“I’m not a child.  That was humiliating.” Volgin curled  that lip again, his eye trailing to the doorway.  “I didn’t even shut the door.  The damn door, Ivan!  Anyone could have-”

A finger was placed on Volgin’s lips.

“Shush.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Major Ocelot continued his trek down the hall, not really sure of what to make of the scene he had witnessed in passing. There were  a  lot things he could have done, really, if in retaliation for being put into the care of a tyrant for so long.  Taking out his newest obnoxious plaything with it would have been an added bonus, but that time would come, soon enough.

For now, he had abused the Colonel’s espionage arsenal in the name of testing: He had photos.

 

FIN


End file.
